Self confidence? 

It’s a weird thing, losing self esteem. I’m not really sure when it started.

When I was young, I remember bouts of happiness and inspiration…I remember thinking I could fly if I wanted to. Normally, I think youth generally encourages the opposite. I remember hearing stories of my middle school friends’ unhappiness and cries for help.  But I could hardly understand what on earth there was to be unhappy about; the sun was more or less ever shining on my days.

Recently, or to be honest, at some vague point over the past three years, I have found myself lost …or at least without a piece of my soul. Staring at the blank faces of people around me throws me into a sort of blankness of my own.

I’ve tried to diagnose it, as any good Hypochondriac…too much technology? Too much time with my boyfriend? Not enough time in the gym? I’ve also tried to treat all of these things.

But nothing works.

I walk around blankly with an ever-present judgemental eye. ‘Oh why does this person care about buying shoes so much?’ ‘What does it matter what color nail polish you want to wear?’ And I don’t know why my soul needs to ask these questions. It takes away from human connections…when I can’t empathize. Where has my empathy gone? Further, where has my self-confidence gone?

I feel anxious, angsty, and blank. I feel unable to enjoy and understand. World, what do I do?


Learning about myself…

I’ve never been able to express want. My desires ebb and flow without my permission, but more often than not, I do not ebb with them. Some would call this patient control; me, I call it misguided self-sacrifice. 

An explanation…

Hi everybody! I totally have been neglecting my blogging…or at least…on this forum. I started a new blog about my trip to Roma (I’m studying abroad). Please feel free to follow my traveling blog! I’ve now been through Ireland and Paris…and there is plenty more to come! I would love your feedback and suggestions on places to go and things to see!

Ciao for now! See you on the other side…here’s the link:


We are limited.

We are given less than we need.

Time begins running out for each of us the moment we are conceived.

And I think that’s a beautiful thing.

But really…

How can we make the most of it?

As humans, we are naturally striving to better ourselves every day…for the next day.

But how will the next day ever come to exist if we are continuously forging a new idea of what the next day will be?

How can I appreciate taming the Appalachian Mountains if I’m forever looking upward toward the tip of Mount Everest?

I can’t see all that’s behind me if I never stop, turn around, and take a good, hard look back.

But looking eternally back and never preparing for the next hurdle is also problematic.

Because then I’ll never pass one…

In fact…the couch would probably keep me from learning what hurdles even are.

Help, guys. How should I spend my time? I’m stuck in a rut because school and work are taking over my life. I feel like wasting any moment (simply because we are given so few) in any place but my happy place is a waste of life. But…don’t I need school to prosper? Shouldn’t I be spending my time preparing for a better future?

How do you find the balance?

Wallflowering on a close friend…

If there is a day that I don’t walk into our room and see you crying…that will be the day. You have so much pain to hide. How do you do it?

Sometimes I wish my words were more for you than an outsider’s gaze. I wish I could say, ” I understand,” and mean it.

You have been my learning experience and my support system. Not only have you been there all this time to guide me through…at the same time as guiding yourself…but you have managed to teach me everything about life without even drawing up one lesson plan.

I’ve never met a family more broken. Every day…I walk in…and you…as the responsible one…are taking care of your mother…or your brother…or your step dad…or your sister. You’re here…hours away…taking care of children who pose as adults.

They cry out against one another…and you always mediate. It’s almost like your mother’s lack of maturity…every ounce of it…was held back from her…and God decided to give it all to you from the day you graced the world with your presence.

It almost tried to keep you there with them…to be what they “need”.

You got out though. You had the strength to give them what they actually needed…and to give yourself a chance. You are here. And you will change the world.

The girl from the small city…the city that locks everyone in…you left. And here you are…in our nation’s capital. And you are winning.

You are gold…you are a God loving, country critiquing, beautifully strong-willed soul. I have more than faith in you and your future.

This is what the world needs more of…humans who come out of their heartbreak…and make life into meaning…and build themselves into the beautiful someone they are supposed to be. You have beat the odds. You are amazing.

And the world, in all its agony, needs your strength more than any medicinal cure. One day…you will be its revival.

Peeta and Katniss…The Remaking

A short story I’ve been writing to try and explain the unwritten years between the end of the Hunger Games and the epilogue…Let me know what you think! I do not own the Hunger Games at all! I just like the idea of providing literature on what pieces are not there. I suppose this counts as me wallflowering on Katniss!


It would never be the same. Peeta’s memories were warmed now, but he would never be my devoted lover again. I’d never feel that same undying affection for only me because of all we’d been through. Now, it was more like a mutual respect…it felt like a normal relationship should, but I didn’t want a normal relationship…I wanted our relationship.

It has been years since the revolution’s end, and Prim’s death still weighs terribly on my heart. I still could not look at Gale for too long. All of these little tiny shards of glass seemed to forever fly about my mind. No matter what memories my brain chose to focus on, sharp edges seemed to outline them and pain enveloped every thought.

I told them that I was better. I just couldn’t stand talking to that damned therapist anymore. Every meeting unsettled me because I would rather go through the Games again than try to pick out each memory shard and force my brain to take a closer look. I would rather just put my memories behind; it seems less painful that way. Happy ones brought the pain of missing them, while upsetting ones hurt for obvious reasons.

As the world had been struggling through rebirth, Peeta and I had been trying to rebuild our relationship. In the beginning, I wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. I didn’t want to witness Peeta’s mood swings of hatred for me leading into a patched up apology. Not having my rock killed me, but either out of cowardice or some form of brave lover’s feeling for his betterment, I managed. Eventually, things seemed to get better for him; hardly any mood swings, and some sign of possible remembrance. For a few weeks now, we have been going on daily walks and occasionally out on “dates.” They seemed to me too small and simple for where our relationship should be after everything, but Haymitch seems to think there is hope in regaining at least some of his feelings by starting fresh. Acting like we just met, but never forgetting.

The thoughts of my lost love lead me far into self-pity (feelings I used to have the dignity to stamp out). I travel deep into that more recently developed hole of longing, until I am snapped back. Peeta appears across the field and begins to walk toward me…and my instincts tell me it’s time for our daily walk considering he wouldn’t come looking for me otherwise.

“Hey Katniss,” he greets me with a lackluster voice, one without the gloss of his pre-torture tone of admiration. I feel an uncomfortable pull at my heart, and I can’t help but force my mind to take this note on a tangent thought: Listen to clichés because there is a reason they’re so widely accepted; they are true. You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Even something as small as a tone of voice can be precious and life changing. I learned that from losing Peeta, but I could never tell him. He could not have anything to say but sorry, and it wouldn’t be a sincere one either.

I nodded, realizing I had seemingly ignored Peeta’s greeting, and we went on our way. Silence ensued as it always did while we walked through the dark, dust-ridden street to get to a happier part of town, and I started to wonder why we put ourselves through this with no hope of a result.

“So, how is your day?” he asked, not seeming to genuinely want an answer.

“Normal,” I replied, “I was hunting most of the morning, and then I was just in the field relaxing. What did your day consist of?”

“Sleeping,” was all he responded with. This never would have been Peeta’s morning routine before. He thought sleeping late wasted the most beautiful part of the day, but now beauty didn’t seem to mean as much to Peeta. Nothing did.

“Peeta, can I ask you something?” I found myself boldly proposing. Maybe a bit of our natural comfort had subconsciously slid back into our conversation…usually I wasn’t able to keep words flowing between us…let alone to ask a question.

“What’s up?” Peeta turned his head toward me, and made a moment of eye contact before pursuing forward. I swore I just saw a flicker of interest in those usually dull, worn eyes.

“Well…” there was so much I needed to say, and because of the pressure, usually at this point I would shut down and silently move on. When did this become me? Afraid of a boy…of my Peeta none the less? Instead…I mustered up all the courage I could gather and blurted out, “do you ever actually remember?”

He looked a bit frazzled at the enormity of the question I just seemed to throw up, which showed with the furrow of his brow. Peeta always made the most adorable face when he was thinking. The slight wrinkles on his forehead have an honesty to them, giving way to whether or not he truly is in a deep thought process. His eyes also seem to twinkle with the depth of a whole galaxy when they fade into thinking mode. I took all this in, sighing at the beauty of a simple, familiar situation.

Peeta looked quizzically at me until answering with, “Well, I think you are asking if I ever sort of phase back into old me. Whether or not the bits of memory that I regain seem just like pictures to me, or I feel like I actually lived them. Am I right in taking that from your question?”

I nodded eagerly.

“Yeah,” Peeta answered, “I suppose I do experience that. It’s kinda like deja vu…but more personal. I remember things for a little while, and I know they are really my experiences; it’s just a matter of placing them.”

Peeta looked back at me and smiled with triumph. A small victory. This could get us somewhere.

Think …

So…I’m listening to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac (cliche and corny…I KNOW!). I’m just sitting here in my office…looking out the window…and using this beautiful song to invite old memories back home. Join me. Take a moment. Pick a nostalgic song and think about all the places you’ve seen and all the things you have done. Chances are…it will amaze you. I know thinking about how many moments I’ve experienced is enough to set my nostalgia buzzers off…let alone thinking about the content of those moments. Appreciate time. For what it has been…and for what it will continue to be until you have no more of it. Live in accordance with this indefinite continuance of life. You’ll never get that last second back. Care to share your moment or nostalgic song? Comment! I love you all. 🙂

So…I had an anxiety attack last night…

…and even writing those words is a realization to me.

It’s hard to accept the fact that anxiety actually exists. I’ve always been one of the doubters…oh anxiety? That can be fixed with some breathing strategy and repetitions of happy thoughts.

I was wrong. Anxiety is real…and I have been dealing with it for some time.

I started to feel dizzy at about 10:00 last night when we were watching Les Mis. I remembered at 9 PM mass that a family friend passed away a few years ago, and reality smacked me in the face: humans are fragile.

I tried to forget the weakness I started to feel in my own organs…and to forget all the deaths surrounding me. But…my stomach pressed on…almost as if I was about to perform…my stomach dropped lower and lower to the ground…and I could not breathe out of it this time. I couldn’t jam my toes into the ground to stabilize myself; nothing was working. The anxiety came at me with it’s own tidal force.

Eventually, I began to really hear my thoughts, “You are going to die…tonight.”

“They say people know when it is their time; is that what is happening to me?”

My roommate tried to calm me down…so I could sleep enough to wake up early and get my paper done…but nothing worked. I felt the ice enveloping my joints and lungs. I felt the blackness circling my eyes. I was either going to pass out or have a heart attack. It was that simple.

I began to freak out about all I hadn’t done in my life. “I have to call my parents…I have to call my boyfriend…I have to see Italy! I’m so young.” And here came the height of my anxiety.

This lasted for a few hours…until I called my dad and he calmed me down. Families are medicinal.

So…I can attest…anxiety is real. That statement may be more for me than for anyone else, but at least now I appreciate it’s sway.

Today is better. Hopefully, there will be sun.